Once upon a time, there was a girl and boy. Both loved each other dearly, but a shard of enchanted glass became caught in the boy's heart and poisoned it. Beautiful things turned ugly. The boy's heart turned cold and hard. His love was tainted. He lost himself in the ice. The girl braved the cold and journeyed the great earth to look for him. In her search, her beauty faded away.1
Only when all clocks struck thirteen would Fakir ever think Drosselmeyer was a good man, but he would admit that the sadistic fossil was an incredible author. He could never hope to match the late writer's expertise despite having to ability to rewrite reality. Drosselmeyer had an entire section of the library dedicated to him even though decades had passed after his death. Magical and timeless, his dark tales captivated the townspeople and inspired many aspiring authors.
Fakir scanned the fine black print while he flipped through a book's yellowed pages, perusing the writing for any secret messages. The text was as familiar to him as an old shoe yet he still searched its words for a solution to his problems.
Not to mention the issue of the town's ambiguous time. Fakir flipped to the front of the novel where its details were displayed. It contained information about the story's publishing and author but not a single date. His eyebrows rose, his chest rising and falling with rapid breaths. How had he not noticed this before?
"Ah, there you are." Autor stood in the doorway, eyes obstructed by the glare of his glasses.
"Is there an issue?" Fakir shut the book and looked up.
"You're researching again."
"Do you have a reason for coming? Don't waste my time."
Autor sniffed and folded his arms. "Here I believed you are actually intelligent enough to want to understand my findings. I should've known you are much too inferior."
Gritting his teeth and swallowing his pride, Fakir stepped forward. "What did you find?"
"Now you're interested." Autor sighed dramatically and leaned against the shelf, soaking up the attention. "I'm sure that duck girl has told you all about it? The feathers?"
"Ahiru doesn't know anything. No one has a clue what the hell is happening."
"The town is stuck in time because of the stories. I'm sure you've noticed the oddities? Nothing happens like it's supposed to. The last story ending freed it, but there wasn't enough time for Gold Crown to recover before another one started."
Fakir thought back to the music sheets for Lohengrin. It was first composed in 1850. Was that the future? Was that the past? His memory refused to separate the lies from truth.
Drosselmeyer's writing had wormed its way into people's lives, twisting their minds, warping their personalities. They were all puppets trying in vain to break free of their strings. Knowledge—what good would it do? Knowing that the town was trapped in nothingness didn't help Fakir to figure out a way to escape.
He closed his eyes and rubbed his temples. Somewhere, locked tightly in the back of his mind, was the truth. When he was a boy, he remembered... Hell, what did he remember
Machines. Black mechanisms with large wheels. They moved on their own, like horseless carriages, and only belonged to the important and wealthy. One couple, draped in lavish furs with expensive gowns, had rode through town in one while everyone else watched in amazement. Fakir recalled clutching his father's hand while they stood among the crowd.
The couple still lived in town, but they rode in carriages drawn by the finest horses instead of their black machine. Fakir was certain it had existed—he was sure of it. So now where had it gone? It had slipped his mind before. He had never stopped to think why the machine disappeared.
A horseless carriage was an impossible thing. Its disappearance simply made sense. Until it didn't any more. Fakir felt like he woke up from a long, hazy dream. Slowly, the details of reality pieced themselves together.
"Do you recall things that shouldn't exist?" he asked.
"No." Autor raised an eyebrow. "Though I suppose you could put it like that. They did exist at some point, but the stories have twisted reality so much that those things vanished. For so long, I've believed that a higher power controlling this town. Now my theories have been proven correct with Drosselmeyer, but I also have reason to believe that an even greater force is controlling him. We're not just in any story—we're in a fanfiction."
Fanfiction? Fakir had never heard of such at thing. Fakir struggled to comprehend Autor's statement. He couldn't see why such a detail was important to defeating Drosselmeyer.
"What nonsense is this?" he demanded.
"Drosselmeyer rewrote reality, yes? Well, a fanfiction is meant to rewrite a reality that's already been rewritten, like how this author is doing."
"So more people have Drosselmeyer's power?"
"What a shame. I expected a descendant of Drosselmeyer to understand. It seems I've set too high expectations for you. I tried telling that duck girl, but it seems she's much too dense to comprehend anything." Autor smirked and pushed his glasses up his nose. The glare of the lenses hid his eyes so only his curved mouth was visible.
"She's not just 'that girl,' and she isn't that dense. Spacey at times, but you'd do best to remember that Ahiru saved us all." The words felt like they were being pulled out of his mouth by a rope. Fakir didn't know why he was defending Ahiru, but oddly enough, it felt like he had to. His knight's duty.
The next words tumbled out before he could stop them. "You're nothing more than a pathetic waste-of-space who can only hope to dream of Drosselmeyer's power."
"It was because of me that this wretched town survived!" Autor slammed his fist against the bookshelf. It rattled and even caused on book to fall.
"You keep saying that, but most of your information is useless in the end," Fakir said coldly and brushed past him.
He broke into a run. The buildings, people, trees passed by him in a blur. The soles of his white school shoes flew over the cobblestone street, barely touching it for more than a second at a time. His throat grew dry and his legs ached. Gritting his teeth, Fakir forced himself to move faster and ignored the tightness in his chest. He showed to a jog when the looming brick walls surrounding the town came into view. Furrowing his brows, he reached out a hand.
The brick was rough, cold, and hard against his calloused skin. The wall definitely existed. Fakir's frown deepened. Somehow he knew that the wall shouldn't have been there. He recalled running outside of town to... Damn. What was it again? What the fuck was he going to do at that time? The thought ate away at him like acid. Fakir needed to know. The event was important. He'd done something important.
He groaned and pressed his forehead against the wall as though it would miraculously mend the holes in Fakir's mind. There was a bottomless lake not too far off from outside Gold Crown. And Ahiru. Ahiru was somehow involved. Damn his memory. Fakir slammed his fists against the wall. It shouldn't be there. He shouldn't be trapped in this town.
A giggle made him look up. A girl stood a couple feet away from him with a python wearing a bright pink bow and frilly dress. Fakir's eyes widened. There had been no one when he arrived nor had he heard any footsteps.
He stepped away from the wall and approached the two. The girl was slender with sleek white hair that flowed like water. The snake had elegant green scales that gleamed in the sunlight. Neither one looked familiar. Gold Crown wasn't very large; Fakir knew every face in it even if he'd never talked to all of them.
He cleared his throat. "Are you two new?
The girl smiled and twirled a lock of hair around her finger. "My sister and I just arrived here actually. I'm Lethe."
She shifted closer to him, her smile widening. "We came here to study ballet, and I could use a dance partner."
"I don't care." Fakir moved away, and her face fell. He glanced back at the wall with narrowed eyes. It stretched on and on, but there were no entrances. "How did you get in?"
"What do you mean? We just walked in."
"Look, idiot. There's no opening."
"Of course there is—" Ahiru's mouth dropped open when she turned back to the wall. Her cheeks turned a little red. "Well, there was one earlier."
"Sister dear, I don't remember always being a snake either," the python mused. "I suppose today is just a strange day."
"Yes," Lethe agreed. "It was nice talking to you, but we will be heading along to the academy now."
Fakir decided to visit Charon. Maybe his foster father would have some answers. He hadn't seen him in a while despite living in the same town. For convenience's sake, the Gold Crown Academy students stayed in dorms on campus. Some chose to sleep at home for the comfort, but Fakir didn't like the hassle of traveling back and forth if he could help it.
He entered the blacksmith's shop and walked down into the workshop, welcomed by the sound of scraping metal. Finely-crafted swords and gleaming suits of armor filled the tiny dark room. Charon sharpened a sword, head bent, beads of sweat on his skin.
Upon hearing footsteps, he stopped working and looked up. Charon was elderly, with graying hair and a square jaw. He wore simple clothing-a plain gray shirt and a black work apron. His eyes, lined with age, widened in surprise. He rose to embrace his son, pulling Fakir against him. "You haven't visited in ages. Just what have you been up to?"
"Nothing." What was Fakir supposed to say, that he'd messed with reality and lost half his heart? Very fine conversation material.
"It's never nothing with you." Charon pulled back, looking him up and down with suspicion. "Have you been spending all your time with a secret lover? Who is this girl? Tell her I want my son back."
"There's no one."
"Of course there isn't." Charon clapped him on the back, the teasing smile never leaving his face.
Fakir scoffed. He couldn't properly love someone with half a heart and now he had to worry after Ahiru. Did he love her? He felt that he once did, but without all of his heart, he wasn't sure.
"I know that look. It really is a girl, isn't it?"
"No." Fakir turned away. He picked one of the many swords laying on the table and flipped it over, testing out the weight. "Have you ever left the town?"
"Now where is this coming from?"
"Answer the question please."
"Then no, I haven't." Charon rubbed his chin, brows knitted together. "Actually, I don't remember even being on the outskirts of town. I've never felt the desire to leave."
Fakir gasped softly. So that was how no one noticed anything strange. Any oddities were simply dismissed, erased from the mind by the story's magic. They were trapped within Gold Crown Town, all prisoners to the narrative.
"There's a wall," he said haltingly.
"Is that so? I suppose it's for our safety." Charon looked at him with a puzzled expression. "You haven't come home in such a long time and this is what you want to talk about?"
"There's no entrance," Fakir pressed. "Unless you climb over it, you can't get out of this town."
Charon sighed and moved to his son's side, placing a hand on Fakir's shoulder. "Come now, what's troubling you? There's no reason to leave Gold Crown."
Fakir jerked away. He slammed his hands on the table. "Don't you see? We're trapped. Doesn't it seem that no one has ever seen the outside world? Do you even know what date it is?"
Charon sighed and rubbed his forehead. Fakir's forehead creased. Clearly his father thought he was mad. He tried to tell himself that it was an effect of the story. But the realization that his foster father didn't believe him shot an arrow straight through his incomplete heart.
"Stop this foolishness," Charon pleaded. "Please, I can't stand not knowing where you've run off to or what you're doing. Stay home at least for tonight."
The arrow became poisoned with guilt. The pain stained his heart, and guilt wrenched it with such cruelty that Fakir almost cried out. How selfish he had been! He spent all his time at school and the lake with Ahiru. Never once had Fakir stopped to think of the kind man who raised him.
"I'll stay," he choked out.
"Thank you."
Charon's gratefulness made Fakir's chest ache even more. His father was overjoyed at the simple prospect of his son spending a day at home. He hadn't thought he'd been that absent, but in hindsight, he could scarcely remember the last time he visited.
In the depths of his clockwork realm, Drosselmeyer watched the scene with a dark scowl. He rocked back and forth in his chair, suspended in the void's darkness, the creaking echoing throughout the emptiness. The large gear spun lazily before him as it depicted the exchange between Fakir and Charon. It was a piece in the clock of a story.
"How ridiculously dull," he lamented. "A fight to tear father and son apart would've been much more intriguing."
Drosselmeyer snapped his fingers, and another gear dropped down in front of the first. The surface rippled like water and the metal transformed into a looking glass. This one depicted a man dressed in all black. He had an angular face with sleek black hair peeking out from underneath the heavy cloak. The hood covered half his face and left only his mouth was visible. The man's head was bent as he focused solely on the gleaming red ring in front of him.
He raised his hand upward, drawing a glowing shard from the ring. Its stone dulled to a drab gray once the heart shard left. Holding heart shard with the tips of his long black nails, he carefully submerged it into a pool of crimson liquid. The gem's lovely red rotted to a hideous black once it surfaced.
The man's head snapped up. A smirk spread across his face. "So you're watching, forefather. No worries. I'll give you the greatest tragedy you've ever seen."
"How bold of you to contact me," Drosselmeyer cackled. "Tragedy will happen whether you're involved or not. You fail this and you'll only be disappointing yourself."
The smirk turned into a frown. "Surely you want entertainment. You won't even aid a man with your own blood?"
"I hate very many men despite my precious blood running through their veins. But since you have been such a wonderful villain, I'll give you a stage."
Drosselmeyer clapped his hands. A loud groan came from the suspended gears as they shifted into place. "Now Hagen, tell me a story. Tell me a cataclysm of tears in which happiness is destroyed and all hope is snuffed out. Tell it to me with no regard for your life!"
Hagen smiled. His teeth gleamed in the bright light. "Thank you, Drosselmeyer. I'll show you the tale you've been waiting for." He waved a hand and from the ground rose hundreds of crows with murderous eyes. "I will send my murder right away."
Sighing, Drosselmeyer waved a dismissive hand. "How foolish. Do you think that the story reaches its climax just like that? No, no, that's very lazy writing. There needs to be a build-up to the tension and that is a important job I am entrusting you with."
"Then I'll listen to your every command." Hagen bowed and his scene faded from the gear.
Drosselmeyer's bulging yellow eyes gleamed feverishly. He rubbed his gloved hands together and bounced from gear to gear, powering up the odd machines that littered his written realm. A deep rumbling sounded from deep in the ground. "How odd. He's not made of wood but he makes a better puppet than my marionettes!"
"Now to make sure everything is in place..."
At his command, the scene transformed to one of Ahiru. She raced down the cobblestone streets. Unbeknownst to the her, red eyes glowed in the shadows and followed her ever move. A crow flew into the sky from its perch in the darkness, its black soiling the clear blue.
"I'll leave it all to you. Don't let me down." Drosselmeyer gave a wheezing chuckle as Ahiru turned the corner.
Panting, she stopped to catch her breath and bent over with her hands on her knees. She clutched the pendant in her hand, finding comfort in its glowing warmth, and ran her thumb over the tiny chip in the shard. It flashed bright red then the light faded. Ahiru glanced up and looked around. She frowned. The heart shard was nowhere to be found.
"Come now. Don't you want to return the knight's heart?"
Ahiru's head snapped up. "W-Who's there?" She stepped back, one hand clasped around the pendant.
"I'm only here to help."
A tall man with white skin and black hair stepped from the shadows. Despite being in the light, he seemed to command them; the darkness followed him and merged into his long feathered cape. The man was hard and wiry with the kind of face that would have been handsome had it not been so sharp and all hard edges.
"O-Okay. How do you know about Fakir's heart?" His crimson eyes stared so intensely on the pendant that Ahiru's grip tightened on it.
"Hmm. I'm observant. You were muttering about it earlier."
She backed away. Her muscles tensed. "You followed me."
"I wanted to offer my aid."
"Really?" Ahiru relaxed but remained guarded.
"Truly."
"How?"
The man reached into his pocket and raised a closed fist. His fingers slowly uncurled before Ahiru's blue-eyed stare to reveal a crimson gem. She snatched it up. Her pendant flashed, resonating with the heart shard. Ahiru held it up to the light and examined it. It turned such a beautiful shade when the sunshine hit it just so that she smiled.
Ahiru turned back around to thank the stranger, but he was gone. How odd. She tightened her grip on the heart shard. No one had ever found the shards before her. What powers did this man have?
Ahiru shook her head and decided to look for Fakir. The action made her life easier so it must've been out of kindness, right? Even when Edel, Drosselmeyer's puppet, claimed not to do things out of generosity, her actions still positively impacted Ahiru. This strange man must be the same—an agent of Drosselmeyer's stories.
She headed over to Charon's house. The man warmly greeted her then excused himself to go to the shop. Fakir sat at the kitchen table reading while Uzura played her drum in the corner. He looked up and closed the book. His eyebrows raised. "What are you doing here?"
Ahiru showed him the heart shard. "A strange man gave it to me," she told Fakir.
"So you didn't find it yourself?"
She shook her head. "I don't know. I think he might be Drosselmeyer's puppet like Edel was."
"If that is true, then you must be cautious around him," Fakir ordered and placed a hand in her shoulder.
Ahiru shuffled closer to him and pressed her hands to his chest. The shard glowed and sank into his skin. Fakir's eyes widened, and he clutched his chest. "What is this feeling?" he asked sharply.
She opened and closed her mouth, at loss for words. "I don't know! The man didn't tell me!"
"A-Ah!" Fakir gasped and bent over, his face twisting.
She lunged forward. "Is something wrong?"
He slowly relaxed, and he stood back up. He told her, "It's nothing. I'm fine now,"
Ahiru looked at him with uncertainty. Her forehead creased, and she frowned. "Are you sure?"
"Yes, idiot."
Fakir shook his head and crossed the room to tend to the fire, his back to Ahiru. She stood alone, watching with sad eyes while she clutched the pendant around her neck. He was lying. There was definitely something wrong.
A crow landed on the windowsill outside of the house. Opening its wretched beak, it let out a large caw.
1 - Based off of The Snow Queen, an original fairy tale written by Hans Christian Anderson.
